


The Arrangement

by pushingcrazies



Series: In for a Penny...or Five Pounds. [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sex was the next logical step in this sequence of events, was it not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after The Pool. I suggest reading that one first, or else parts of this won't make any sense.

Sherlock’s mind was buzzing.

Granted, that was hardly an unusual situation for him, but right now the thoughts he was having were…different.  New.  Almost frightening, if he were so inclined towards fear.  Beside him, Lestrade was blissfully ignorant of Sherlock’s inner turmoil.  Probably concentrating on now throwing up in the taxi, Sherlock thought disdainfully.  Though, given the bemused smile on Lestrade’s mouth, possibly not.  Possibly just very confused about what was happening and trying not to question it too closely.

Sherlock wished he could do the same.

A regular person might say something along the lines of “I don’t know what came over me,” but Sherlock was far from regular.  This – the kiss, the cab ride, everything – was the result of pure, unadulterated jealousy.  The thought of Mycroft sticking his tongue down Lestrade’s throat.  His hand clenched involuntarily.  Unfortunately, it was the hand currently resting possessively on Lestrade’s thigh.

Lestrade turned to face him, all beguiling innocence and drunken happiness.  Sherlock wanted to kiss him again, bite his lips, mark him so that the world would know those lips belonged to him.  He refrained, though barely, and only because the cabbie had already warned them twice that he would throw them out if they started snogging like teenagers.  Sherlock knew he was completely serious – third strike and they’re out – just as he knew the cabbie’s prejudice was not against homosexuals, but happy couples in general.  Little did he know…

“Where are we going?” Lestrade asked.

“To your flat,” Sherlock said.

If anything, this seemed to leave Lestrade even more mystified than before.  “I know where _I’m_ going,” he said slowly as though Sherlock were the one who was drunk.  “But where are you going?”

“To your flat with you.” His hand moved almost imperceptibly towards Lestrade’s groin.  Not hard.  Not yet.

“Why?”

“Last time I checked, sex required two people.  Otherwise it’s simply called ‘masturbation.’”

Because sex was the next logical step in this sequence of events, was it not?  Sherlock had staked his claim, and now he must be prepared to follow through on it.  A part of him wished Lestrade weren’t quite so drunk, so that he might be able to better guide Sherlock, but most of him was grateful that Lestrade likely wouldn’t remember in the morning any of Sherlock’s inexperienced fumbling.  How difficult could it be, though?  If even an idiot like Anderson could become moderately proficient (or at least so Sally had claimed the last time they had gotten into a screaming match…never mind how Anderson had been relevant at the time – Sherlock had long since deleted that portion of the row), then surely he, Sherlock, could manage well enough to get both himself and Lestrade off.  Maybe just Lestrade, if he was drunk enough not to notice whether or not Sherlock came.

Lestrade, meanwhile, had either decided he was having a drink-induced hallucination or was trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth because he was frowning at Sherlock’s hand on his thigh but not in a “get off me” sort of way, more of a “I’ve got questions” sort of way.  Fortunately, he elected not to voice those questions, or else Sherlock might let his anger and frustration at the whole bloody mess get the better of him and just go home instead.

But then Mycroft would be ready to swoop in and take Lestrade away from him.

And there was no chance he would ever let that happen.  Sherlock had won this particular war, and Mycroft would just have to get over it.

Mycroft, however, seemed to have different ideas on the matter.

The taxi pulled up in front of Lestrade’s flat, and Sherlock paid the cabbie while Lestrade wobbled his way over to the front door.  He fumbled with his keys and missed the lock twice, but it didn’t seem to matter; the door was already unlocked and opened readily when Lestrade put his hand on the knob.  Lestrade didn’t seem to realise anything unusual had just occurred, but Sherlock was immediately on guard.  Very few people would have the audacity to break into a Detective Inspector’s flat and leave the door unlocked after them as some sort of warning or challenge, and one of those people had been snogging said Detective Inspector not two hours ago.

Sure enough, Mycroft was lounging on the sofa, smirking and looking like he owned the place.  Lestrade stopped dead.  “Mycroft?”

“Do excuse me for letting myself in, Gregory, but I must have a few words with my brother.”

Sherlock stepped in front of Lestrade.  “Get out.”

“This is not your flat, Sherlock.  You do not have the authority –“

“Lestrade wants you to get out.  Now,” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth.

Mycroft ignored his brother and spoke directly to Lestrade instead.  “Gregory, surely you wouldn’t kick a guest out of your home, at least not before you learn the purpose of his visit.”

“Well, I…” Lestrade stammered.

“Lestrade.”  Sherlock didn’t bother to look him in the eye, but backed up a couple of paces so he could grind his arse blatantly against Lestrade’s crotch.  “We can’t have sex until your ‘guest’ leaves, so I suggest you get rid of him as quickly as possible.”

Lestrade let out a groan that made Sherlock’s toes nearly curl with satisfaction.  His hand grabbed Sherlock’s waist for support, as though he might fall down if he didn’t hold onto something solid.  Mycroft’s expression turned sour.  “Sherlock, I need to speak with you.  Immediately.”

“No.”

“Sherlock.”  Lestrade’s voice was strained and still a bit slurred, but resolute.  “You’d best see what he wants ‘cause he’s not gonna leave us alone until he talks to you.  I need some water.”

“Sit down, I’ll bring it to you,” Sherlock snapped.  “Last thing I need right now is for you to drop the glass with your drunken lack of coordination and end up cutting yourself.  Mycroft.  Kitchen.”

It was a mark of how urgent the matter was that Mycroft actually deigned to get on his feet and follow Sherlock into Lestrade’s kitchen while Lestrade himself collapsed onto the sofa in his place.  Sherlock filled a plastic tumbler with water and brought it out to Lestrade.  He lingered in the living room for a moment; he suspected the reason his brother had come all the way out here, and he wasn’t looking forward to the following conversation.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said warningly.

Just to piss him off even more, Sherlock took his sweet time getting back to the kitchen.  This was hardly the first time Sherlock had been inside Lestrade’s flat, but he took in every detail, sparse though they were.  The furniture was arranged to be open and inviting, which was a contradiction since very few people visited now that his ex-wife had moved out.  The bookcase in the corner was crammed full of books Lestrade had never read (“I’ll get to them eventually”) or was holding onto for Sherlock, since Sherlock simply didn’t have the _space_ for any more books.  Well, he did, but John forbade him from throwing out the dishes in favour of turning one of the kitchen cupboards into another bookcase.  Apparently, dishes were considered a necessary part of John’s “normal” life.  Dull.

“Some time tonight, if you please,” Mycroft said.

“I don’t see why I need bother hurry on your account,” Sherlock informed him, stepping back into the kitchen.  Mycroft was posing in what he presumably thought was an intimidating manner, but reminded Sherlock more of a child who had lost his favourite toy.  “Seeing as you’re the one who wants to talk to me, not vice versa.”

“It’s about Lestrade,” Mycroft began.

“Yes, I assumed as much, considering we’re in his flat.  I figured you wouldn’t come all this way just to wish me a happy Christmas.  Bit outside of your comfort zone, this.  Although I did notice a bakery on the corner, so perhaps –“

“Sherlock, you have made your point this evening.  Now stop fooling around and leave Lestrade alone,” Mycroft interrupted.

“You are the second person to have said that to me tonight,” Sherlock said.  “Why do you people think I need to leave him alone?  What makes you think he wants me to leave him alone?”

“Why now?” Mycroft countered.  “I know you, Sherlock.  John knows you, perhaps better than I.  You have been leading Lestrade on for nigh on nine years now, so why tonight of all nights have you decided to stop?”

“He was married for five of those years, and I was pretending to be dead for three, so officially I have only been leading him on for one year.”

“This is so typically you,” Mycroft sneered.  “You have everything, yet you want none of it until someone threatens to take it away from you.  Just like when we were kids.  Mummy would buy you everything you wanted –“

“Oh would you stop harping on that?  It was twenty years ago, Mycroft.  Get over it.”

“The point still stands.  You would have continued to use and ignore him forever had I not stepped in tonight,” Mycroft said.

“Yet, you didn’t stick around long enough to see if I took up your challenge.  You hid behind physical distance, pretending it is the same as emotional distance,” Sherlock countered.  “Which, I might add, is so typically _you_.  The Ice Man.”

“And you are The Virgin.  Tell me, were you planning on changing that tonight?  Or were you hoping he would be so drunk he wouldn’t notice that he got off and you didn’t?  Tell me, how long do you think a relationship without physical intimacy will last with a man like Lestrade?”  Mycroft was smiling in a predatory way that suggested he believed he had scored a vital point.

“How long do you think a relationship without emotional intimacy would last?” Sherlock replied.  “Do you think he will be one to put up with your secrets and evasions?  Your ‘caring is not an advantage’ attitude?”

“At least I wouldn’t ignore him for days on end in favour of a new type of fungus.”

“No, you would ignore him simply because it suited your interests at the time.”

“Well, you –“

“Guys?”

Both heads whipped around to face Lestrade, their eyes comically wide with surprise.  It took a lot to catch the Holmes brothers off-guard…or perhaps very little.  Perhaps all it took was a man coming upon them in the middle of an argument in his own kitchen, his hair adorably ruffled and his face weary and muddled.  “I need more water,” he explained, holding up his empty glass.  “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Sherlock snapped, while Mycroft took his glasses and refilled it.

Lestrade took it back, and Sherlock wondered how one person could look like a weary old drunkard and a sleepy five-year-old simultaneously.  It defied nature, he decided, and was definitely worth further study.

“Is it something that can wait till tomorrow?” Lestrade asked.  “Only, I really want to go to bed and I can’t until you leave.”  He gave no indication who he meant by “you”: Mycroft, Sherlock, or both.

“No,” both brothers said at the same time.  Mycroft tried a sympathetic smile that looked more like he was trying to chew on an electric wire.  “I’m afraid this is a matter that must be settled tonight.”

“Okay, well…I’ll just be…” Lestrade gestured vaguely towards the living room before leaving them to their own devices.

A thought occurred to Sherlock.  It wasn’t a good thought, or a very well thought out one, nor was it pleasant to think about, but it seemed to be the quickest way to settle this, at least for the time being.  “I suppose,” he began, already hating himself for giving voice to these words, “we could always…share him.”

“Share?” Mycroft repeated. “Us?  We have never been able to share anything in our lives.  Do you remember what happened to our pet tortoise?”

“This would be different.  We would share him, but only on separate days.  When I am consumed with an experiment, he would be yours.  When you are busy running the country or trying to prevent a world war, he will be with me.”

Mycroft raised a sceptical eyebrow.  “And what happens when neither of us have pressing matters to attend to?”

“We shall take it in turns.”

Mycroft clacked his umbrella decisively against the floor, like a judge banging a gavel.  “Very well.  Starting with tonight, I will take the first turn, since I came all the way out here.”  He began to move towards the living room.

Sherlock caught his arm.  “I don’t think so.  I will start tonight, since it was my idea.”

“I was the first one to kiss him.”

“I was the first one to meet him.”

“That you know of.  For all you know, I arranged for you two to meet, in an effort to keep you from spiraling even further into your drug-induced self destruction.”

“Like Hell you did!”

The brothers glared daggers at each other.  Through the pervading silence came a sound: a snuffling sort of snore.  The brothers stopped glowering just long enough to peer around the corner of the kitchen into the living room.  Sure enough, Lestrade, tired of waiting for one or the other to return to him, had fallen asleep on the sofa.

“Ah.  It appears neither of us will get a turn tonight,” Mycroft said.

“Yes, _thank you_ for stating the obvious,” Sherlock hissed, trying to keep his voice down.  “I will stay the night with him to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own vomit.”

“Oh, dear brother…don’t pretend like you can fool me.  I will stay with him.”

It looked to be another stalemate, one that could potentially go on for hours, if their childhood squabbles were anything to guess by.  So they agreed to cut it short with a simple agreement.

Which was how Lestrade woke up the next morning to find himself sandwiched between two Holmes brothers on a bed that was not nearly big enough to accommodate three full-grown men.


End file.
